


i'm so far gone now

by samisaywhat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Fairies, Injury, M/M, Stitches, Wolfsbane Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samisaywhat/pseuds/samisaywhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles really thinks someone should bring it up to Disney that fairies are indeed as vindictive as Tinkerbell in the first Peter Pan. The recent Tinkerbell movies are seriously off. The only thing fairies seem to tinker with is new ways to kill people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm so far gone now

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty ignorant when it comes to trigger warnings, but just to be safe: There is some... Mildy descriptive text about stitches, including the act of stitching & a quick sentence about riping stitches out. 
> 
> This was written for tbhmultifangirl on tumblr during some kind of Sterek fan trade off thing. I can't remember. Minor edits have been made.

Stiles now knows the wet feel of a needle in his hand. Knows how long a thread will stay white, how long it takes the color to bleed out of the skin and into the thread of his stitches. 

He’s hasn’t gotten over his squeamishness, not at all, but he’s become quite good at keeping his lunch down until the deed is done. Then it’s time to stumble away and empty his stomach into whatever waste basket he can find. If he’s lucky, there’ll be a toilet nearby instead. But Stiles isn’t lucky. In fact, bad luck follows him around like a sick puppy, which seems like an apt comparison while his fingers are slick with black blood. 

Derek's chest isn't expanding as much as Stiles' thinks it should. His breathing isn't ragged or strained. He looks almost peaceful, except for the sweat beading on his skin, and the tight set of his lips. Stiles is grateful for how controlled Derek is, especially now when a breath too deep could jostle his hand. Though he can't imagine how bad a needle poke could be when you've already been cut open and poisoned. 

And really, who the hell even makes wolfsbane incense? 

Oh wait, Fairies, that's who. Stiles really thinks someone should bring it up to Disney that fairies are indeed as vindictive as Tinkerbell in the first Peter Pan. The recent Tinkerbell movies are seriously off. The only thing fairies seem to tinker with is new ways to kill people. 

The stitches are both too ugly and too neat, tight and bold against Derek's paled chest. It's not his first time doing this, which is really ridiculous. He needs to rethink his life, or maybe find a better afterschool activity. As it stands, running around with werewolves is only going to get him firsthand medical experience. Or killed. He's hoping for the former. Maybe Deaton will give him volunteer hours to put on his college applications. 

And really, Deaton should be the one doing this, but Derek had insisted that Stiles do it instead. Because apparently Derek only trusts Deaton enough to provide the supplies, but not enough to be left alone with the man in his current state. As it stands, Deaton does have his hands full with Scott's wounds over in the second examination room. 

Stiles ties a knot at the end, finally finished stitching together the large cut. He snips the stray string off and quickly stretches gauze over the entirety of the wound, securing it with medical tape. Out of sight, out of mind. He makes quick work of disposing of the needle and leftover thread, stopping to dry heave over the garbage can. Strangely, nothing comes out, which is probably because he hasn't eaten anything since breakfast. 

Cleaning his hands is something he wished he didn't have to do, but the blood isn't just going to evaporate. He tries not to watch as the water washes away the black liquid. He doesn't even feel bad about using half of the soap. And then hand sanitizer. Twice. 

Derek doesn't miraculously stir now that he isn't bleeding out anymore. The medicine Deaton gave him should get rid of the wolfsbane in his system, but Stiles doesn't know how long that will take. He should go home, but he can't bring himself to abandon Derek when he's still vulnerable, not when Derek is trusting him. Stiles knows that trust is hard earned, and Derek's doubly so.

So Stiles pulls a stool up to the examination table and settles himself onto it. He could probably waste some time playing Angry Birds or Temple Run. His Dad has the late shift tonight anyway. 

 

Stiles is deep into a crossword puzzle—he found a stack of old newspapers that are probably used as cage liners—when Derek finally opens his eyes. Stiles doesn't even notice at first, too busy trying to think of a five letter word that means drained of color. He's tempted to write Derek. 

Derek shifts on the table, groaning weakly. Stiles snaps his head up, newspaper clutched tightly in his hands.

"I wouldn't recommend sitting up right now," Stiles says as he watches Derek struggle to do just that. 

"I'm healing." Derek groans again, fingers scratching at the medical tape. Stiles stares as he actually rips it away, flinching at the sound it all makes. Stiles can't even take off a bandaid without whining about it, so Derek is actually crazy. Werewolf healing or not, pulling adhesive off your skin cannot be pleasant. 

The gauze falls to floor without the tape holding it in place, and Stiles can see that the wound looks much better. He figures that he should probably start taking the stitches out before the skin starts to heal over them. 

Derek is well ahead of him, lengthening a claw to pick at the string. Stiles has to look away as Derek pulls it out of his body.

"Stiles." 

"You better be done with that." Stiles still has his eyes tightly shut, shaking his head. 

"It's done." Derek assures him. 

Stiles opens one eye to look at him. The thin scar on his chest is slowly healing itself, but it doesn't look all that bad anymore. Derek's skin isn't so pale anymore either, the color slowly working its way to the surface. 

"Thank God," Stiles says, slumping forward and finally releasing the newspaper. Derek takes that moment to grab Stiles' neck, dragging him even closer. Stiles gasps, even though he should be used to Derek pulling on him all the time. 

Derek runs his nose along Stiles' neck, grip tight to hold him in place. It's not like he's never done this before, the whole scenting thing, but it still makes Stiles tense, worried about what Derek might smell on him. Even though Derek knows exactly what effect he has on Stiles. 

"I'm okay." Stiles says weakly, pushing at Derek's head. He's pretty sure he must reek of arousal now. 

Derek isn't phased, doesn't even bother to stop sniffing. "I can smell blood."

Stiles sighs. It's stupid to think that he could have hidden anything from a possessive werewolf with a super sniffer. "Well, yeah, but I'm fine."

Derek lifts his head up to, of course, give Stiles a scowl. 

"I literally just scraped my knee when I was running away." Stiles laughs. Derek rolls his eyes and goes right back to sniffing at Stiles' neck. 

"Okay, okay. Enough of that." Stiles groans, pushing Derek away. Surprising, he actually lets Stiles do so. 

"I'm sorry." Derek says, flaring his nostrils. "I shouldn’t have asked you to do that." 

Stiles shrugs. "I can't help it if you think I'm a pro."

Derek shakes his head, but he lets go of Stiles’ neck. He pushes himself up and off of the examination table. He looks as normal as ever, chest blemish (and hair) free. Derek’s shirt didn’t survive the battle, but it’s not like Derek has ever been shy about running around shirtless. Stiles doesn’t mind too much, either. The view is nice. More than nice. 

Stiles decides to get up as well, bending down to pick up the newspaper he dropped. He doesn’t intend to finish it, not when he can actually go home. He’s not even all that good at crosswords anyway. When he stands up straight again, Derek turns around and crowds him against the examination table. Stiles drops the damned newspaper again in favor of gripping at Derek’s arms. 

“Okay,” is the only thing he can say before he’s being kissed roughly. He kisses back almost immediately, fingers pressing indentations into Derek’s skin. They’ve done this before too, though Stiles can’t really label it. It happens every so often, usually after a near death experience, and he hasn’t been able to ask Derek about it. He just lets it happen whenever Derek feels like initiating it. Stiles doesn’t crave it. He definitely doesn’t wait impatiently for it to happen.  
He doesn’t. 

He does kiss Derek back with just as much desperation, though. Derek kisses him the same way he fights, feral and rough. It’s not the way he's ever imagined it, and okay, he definitely has imagined it a lot. In his mind, Derek kisses almost professionally, like it’s something he’s had a lot of practice doing. And it’s not like Stiles is upset; Derek is an amazing kisser. Sometimes reality is much better than imagination. 

Derek pushes Stiles up onto the table, still warm from his body, and Stiles doesn’t even think about it, just wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and pulls him closer. Stiles has been half hard since Derek shoved his face into his neck, and it looks like Derek might want him to ruin his jeans. Which he is totally on board with him as long as Derek keeps kissing him. 

It feels great to have all of Derek’s attention and to focus on nothing but the feel of his lips. Stiles runs his hands down Derek’s arms, the skin always soft under his fingertips. Stiles thinks it has something to do with the healing factor. He often wonders if werewolves can have dry skin, or callouses. Derek’s lips are always soft, so Stiles highly doubts it. He can’t go a few minutes without licking the cracks away from his own lips. He has to buy a new stick of chapstick every other week since he constantly loses them. It’s those little details that make him humor taking the bite, but he still likes being human, regardless of the cons. Derek definitely doesn’t seem to mind. 

Derek pulls away, tongue darting out against Stiles’ lips. He can’t imagine what he must look like, lips red and swollen. Derek’s pupils are blown and red, and that really only makes Stiles impossibly harder. He groans and collapses against Derek, pinching at his arms in frustration. 

“Thank you.” Derek mumbles against Stiles’ hair. 

Stiles snorts. “Because that is what you say after you attack someone’s mouth.” 

“Should I have said ‘you’re welcome,' instead?” 

Stiles laughs at that, just happy to have this moment with Derek, even if it’s random and even if they don’t ever talk about it. He’ll eventually get confident enough to initiate on his own, but until then, Derek can have his way. Mostly. 

“You could shut up and kiss me.” Stiles suggests, sitting back up to grin at Derek. 

Derek grins right back, fangs noticeably longer. Stiles rolls his eyes and tries not to think about how he probably has some weird werewolf kink. Derek does as he’s told and kisses the thought right out of his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from "Lunacy Fringe" by The Used.


End file.
